Your Poison of Choice
by Treacle Parcheesi
Summary: The sick and twisted recount of my stay at a Real World insane asylum. I, Iggy Koopa, invite you to partake in the real story behind the massacre at Freaky Fred's Institute for the Criminally Insane, why it had to happen, and how long it took me to clean the blood out of my scales. Bring your own scalpel.
1. The Doctor Is In

**This was originally a part of another story of mine. As advised by one of my most beloved readers, it was an inappropriate ****storyline in a work supposedly about a family, so I cut it out from the original fic. Bless her squeamishness, and my overly ambitious heart. However Iggy didn't like it. He scares me when he gets angry. So I'm gonna get out of his way and let him tell his own story. Of course, seeing as he's one thermos short of a lunch box, I can't guarantee only the truth will come out. No, Iggy, don't look at me like that! Keep those claws off me! Heeeelp!**

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><p>It's dark; so dark. I hide behind a large, potted plant, because sooner or later someone is going to notice me not being in my bed. This would derail all of my self-confidence training, as this is the moment I've been manning up for these last couple of months. It's ten o'clock at night. Mama goes to bed at nine, King Dad at eleven, while we Koopalings are put to bed at seven. Ludwig gets to stay up an hour longer, just because he's the oldest. I make sure to leave a greeting card. For instance, that hour is more than enough time for me to pay him back for calling me "<em>Dummkopf"<em>.

Mama Koopa is resting. She must have fallen asleep while reading her book. I very quietly climb up and sit on the lower bedpost, because this is tough. Mama loves me. I know she does. She is always kissing me and holding me, and tells me how much she loves me even though I'm special in the head. She never uses harsh words or a stern voice, and she's there for me all day.

That's why I have to kill her.

Otherwise, their faces will change again. Because of that it's better to hide where it's dark. They can find you if you're in your shell, but not in the night itself. I giggle. I'm so smart I outfoxed them.

I look at her and I'm not afraid anymore. After all, she would want me to get rid of the nightmares no matter what. They have told me that she'll forgive me. I draw the blade and aim it at her neck. It's so close. I draw an imaginary X to mark the spot, but as I withdraw the knife to give the cut some momentum, she opens her eyes. It's too late.

"I do it all for you, Mama," I whisper. "Iggy loves his Mama."

Mama Koopa yelps, and her eyes widen, other than that she's not reluctantly accepting her fate. But King Dad heard her. I break the skin, and she bleeds, but nothing else happens before I suddenly find myself being lifted off my parents' bed.

"No!" I struggle against my father's grip and lunge at my mother with the knife. "I have to sacrifice Mama! Mama _has_ to die!"

"What happened?" My father King Bowser asks as he pins me down on my side and takes the knife away. I'm terrified; now the faces will never leave me!

"Ah!" Mama's breath is heaving and she touches the cut on the side of her neck. "I don't know; I just fell asleep for a second and he was sitting there, with a knife to my face."

I struggle, which leads to further constraint. King Dad is so strong me fidgeting doesn't budge him one bit.

"Careful!" My Mama says to him. "He's just a little Koopaling. I'm sure he didn't mean it."

"Do you, now?" King Dad is always a little superior towards Mama Koopa. It seems as though she never notices. "Well, I think he's insane and should be locked away."

"No, no!" This genuinely upsets her, so she folds her hands. "No Koopaling of mine is going to be at the mercy of strangers."

But King Dad is unyielding. He makes me sit in the dungeon for six days this time. The last morning I wake up to find that the dungeon door is open. I silently creep upstairs to find the rest of the family eating breakfast and chatting like they always do. Lemmy waves at me; he had saved me a seat at the table even though I haven't eaten any meals with them for almost a whole week. We're very close, Lemmy and I. He brushes toast crumbs off his round little belly and makes room for me.

As Koopalings, we have one rule among ourselves. If anyone is sent to the dungeon, we don't rub it in each other's faces afterwards. We pretend like nothing.

King Dad and Mama Koopa tell us to brush our fangs and meet up outside to warp to Koopergarten. I get up from my seat although I haven't eaten anything yet.

"No, Koopums," Mama says reluctantly. "You're staying home today. Lemmy too."

My brother looks at me, but I don't know what to say.

Kamek is the old Magikoopa who takes care of us. Not only us Koopalings; he also helps King Dad when he's on a business trip, and looks after Mama when the stork comes to the castle. Today he bathes Lemmy and me. He is so good to us; he always knows how to make the bath water just right. He can wash your hair and never get soap in your eye – that's his specialty.

"I tell you, young Master Koopa. A good scrubbing makes an old Koopa look young again." He rinses the soap out of my hair.

"I only look wet," Lemmy says as he tries to make his Mohawk stand up.

Afterwards King Dad meets us in the portrait hall. I tug at his spiky cuff. "Why didn't we have to go to school?"

"Because you're gonna take a little trip… It'll be just us, Kamek and Boom Boom."

For some reason this day, I am not allowed to play on the Doomship's deck. We have to stay at the bridge. Lemmy has his circus ball with him, so I watch as he plays around. The faces never bother me when I'm with my brothers. They're all so nice to me. Except for Roy; he gives me swirlies.

Doomship trips can be boring if it's rainy outside, but I see that the weather is fine… Wherever we are.

"Mama, are we in the Real World? There are no note blocks anywhere here?" I stare out the window. Mama Koopa, who has been playing cards with Kamek and King Dad, takes my hand and takes me to the sofa in the corner.

"Are you tired, son?" She asks and run her gentle claws through my hair. According to her, I have inherited my Uncle Ignatius' hair.

"No," I say. She nods, and goes to the stove. I can't really see what's she's making, but she comes back with two cups of tea and one glass of milk, because Lemmy doesn't like tea.

"Drink it," she says, "While it's hot."

I obey her. How can any Koopa disobey a Koopa lady who loves him? The tea tastes very good after a week in the dungeon, and I'm thirsty, so I drink it all.

"Good." Mama wipes my snout with a napkin.

Less than a minute after I've finish my tea I find that I'm exhausted. The room starts to spin hazily, and everything is fuzzy.

"Maaaamaaa," I groan. King Dad helps her, and they put a pillow under my head.

"You poisoned me."

Mama turns her head away at this accusation. King Dad shakes his head, but the only thing that's not a blur is his red hair.

"Son, we didn't poison you. We're just trying to help you sleep."

He's afraid of me. Far be it from me to imagine why.

It's as if there's a sweet little melody playing in my head, so my decision is to follow it. It takes me further and further away from the light until my eyelids betray me and there is nothing more than darkness.

When I wake up, I'm no longer aboard the Doomship; I'm in a hospital bed. It has to be, because the sheets, pillowcases and blankets have had all their cottony softness bleached and boiled right out of them without fabric softener.

There is a strange Koopa lady sitting at the bed's side. She smiles; a little too friendly.

"Hello, Iggy." She folds her hands in her lap. "I'm Dr. Clawdia. Welcome to Freaky Fred Memorial."

My left eyelid is still prone to treachery, so it twitches. "Where's King Dad? And Mama?"

"Right down that hall, dear. They didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

I climb out of bed. Dr. Clawdia has even put me in a hospital gown as squeaky clean as those awful sheets. My parents are talking to a Medikoopa, which I think is fascinating. Medikoopas are so rare, and so relaxing to look at.

It flies away however, when it sees me. King Dad lifts me up, tousles my hair and puffs hot air and smoke on me, like we Koopas do when we meet someone we care about. It's so nice; the roasting breath warms up every inch of me. I thank him by growling. I am then handed me to Mama, who kisses me.

I love her arms around me. "I'm so relieved the doctor made a mistake. You were here all along."

"We love you, son," Mama says.

"That's why we've decided to let you spend some time here." King Dad rests his hands on Mama's shoulders.

I shake my head in disbelief, then, as I realize they're serious I embrace Mama by her hips; refusing to let go of her.

"No! You can't leave me here. I don't live here; I live with you!"

"I'm sorry, son, but this was not our decision." King Dad lies to me; I'm sure of it. He's a terrible, yet frequent liar.

Somehow Lemmy has gotten past the Lucite double doors, and he runs up to me, reaching into his shell.

"You shouldn't be here all alone," he says, and looks at me, although his eyes are staring in opposite directions. That's what _he_ inherited from Ignatius. He pulls out his favorite doll, Mr. Muffin. Mama Koopa made one for each of us, but I sacrificed mine to the faces a long time ago. Lemmy's is especially cute; yellow peppermint in color and with pink cupcakes for cheeks. I hardly have time to say goodbye and thank you to him before the driven and oh, so professional Doctor Clawdia returns. She places her claws on my shoulder and leads me to the next door, which are also double.

Oh, Lemmy; we started out looking almost exactly the same. People even thought we were twins. And now, glance upon us. You, a thriving, round-bellied young Koopa with hopes and dreams. And I; withered and ugly, and as sallow as old paper. What the future has in store for me is unknown, but when life gives me stink bugs, I always make the tastiest stink bug Aid. It's one of those things who can always put a smile on my face.


	2. Dark Land Horror Story: Iggy

**SM64: He's just a little Koopaling, after all. ^^**

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><p>For the first time in my life I am not lying next to Ludwig or Lemmy. My second oldest brother is not a little, scaly warm ball to the left, and my oldest brother's hair-smelling, um; hair is not to the right. I can't sleep in this creaky, sterilized bed. My room smells like iodine; sickening; the odor is making my stomach turn. At least Mr. Muffin is soft and smells like Lemmy's drool.<p>

The morning comes. It's impossible to know, seeing as the blinds are on the outside of the window. A nurse comes in to undo my restraints. When my wrists are free I am so full of thankfulness I vomit all over her shoes.

I'm shivering, because I'm frightened. The ward is so big, so chalky white and open; and there's nothing to hide behind. It's cold too.

There's a large plastic potted plant in the common room which is empty. The problem is that it's already occupied by someone else.

"Taken," she barks and her voice is cold. She scares me; all girls scare me. I'm not ashamed to admit it. But I can't control myself any longer. I cry.

Tears get caught under the rims of my glasses. I hate that, so I cry even more. The Koopa girl's eyes are darting across the room. "What are you doing? Shut up! Butt head!"

"I'm sorry," I sob and hide my face in my claws. "I can't help it."

Her snout puckers and she is no longer harsh. "It's OK. Why are you upset? Ass!"

She makes me think about it again, and the tears make my head pound. There's even a lump in my throat.

"Because I'm all alone in this place. And I'm so far away from home." I have no idea why I'm telling this to a perfect stranger, but I really can't help it, you know…

"That goes for everyone here, Koopaling," she says. I stop crying and look up.

"How do you know I'm a Koopaling?"

"Your spiky shell, _dumbass_!"

Her name is Shelly. She's nice to me and takes me on a little tour of the ward. There are pretty things in here, but the rooms are so white and cold I can't get past it. I sit down.

On the door to the nurse's station there's a big poster of the ward's rules.

No spitting

No swearing

No clawing

No stimming

Absolutely no discussion of the outside world

Absolutely no discussion of treatment

The record player is off limits to residents

The creativity room is off limits to residents

The television set is off limits to residents

Any violation of these rules will result in any necessary disciplinary and safety action taken.

"What does the last one mean?" I ask Shelly. She's about to answer when there's a big commotion by the living room TV.

The "resident"; a Koopa boy who reminds me about Lemmy is restrained by the nurses. Shelly ducks behind me, and I see it as my duty to protect her.

The little Koopa fidgets. "I don't understand why I can't watch the news!"

"It's not on your schedule, that's why!" The Koopa Troopa nurse clicks her pager, and the door to the nurse's station swings open. Doctor Clawdia comes jogging out on her ridiculously high heels, drawing a syringe and an ampulla from the pocket of her lab coat.

The Koopa boy screams in terror as she approaches. I'm not sure if it's the doctor or the shot he is scared of. Doctor Clawdia stabs him in the arm and the medicine is injected in a nanosecond.

I'm expecting the boy to fall asleep. But he doesn't. He just zones out. His eyes are vacant, and his mouth becomes too heavy to keep closed, so he lets his lower jaw drop. He looks more like a vegetable than a Koopa.

Doctor Clawdia returns to her office. As she passes us, Shelly looks away.

"We have our _own_ set of rules," she mumbles. "They're simple. Don't ask your parents to bring you stuff from the outside world."

It's sad how the vernaculars used by the staff of this place have wormed their way into Shelly's vocabulary.

"It'll only get confiscated. If you want anything, ask Koopie Koo. She can get you anything; except the key to this rat hole. I gotta warn you though; she's kind of a hugger. For each hug she doles out she has to spend one hour in restraints, so don't overexcite her."

What fresh hell is this?

"Second rule. Never trust Doctor Clawdia. She's Satan in knockoff Dior."

"She seemed nice yesterday…" I don't get to finish my sentence before Shelly covers my mouth with her ice cold hand. "I repeat, don't trust her. If she gets inside your head you're screwed. She'll make your life miserable in ways you can't imagine."

The Koopa boy who was so fond of watching the news is now in a wheelchair. Someone has put a towel on his plastron to keep it from being drenched in dribble.

"Is that one of the ways?" I ask. The sight is more disturbing than any changing face.

"It is. Which brings us over to the third and most important of all. Never ever let any of the orderlies see you cry. Your tears are their excuse to zap your brain. Do you understand?"

I nod. Now it's 8. 30 in the morning and someone announces breakfast time.

Shelly points me in the direction of the cafeteria. "I hope there are muffins today."

I've been placed on a bench next to Shelly and a bunch of strangers and now I stare angrily at the nurse who has reached me a tray containing eggs and toast. Do they expect me _not_ to jump up and bite them in the face? How dare they?

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. So they say. I wouldn't know; seeing as I've never eaten eggs or toast before. The whole meal ritual is one I tend to avoid. You know, Koopas faces change when the owners eat. Sometimes I'm really, really hungry… but if food changes my face, then I may not be who I am, or the food could be poisoned. It's that simple. King Dad doesn't understand, neither does Mama Koopa. Roy calls me "nutterbutter", but Ludwig actually understands. When he's not too busy being snobbish and pretentious, that is.

I let my fried eggs and toast remain fried eggs and toast. For our common convenience, the Koopa boy to my left has his name, "Koops" written on the sleeve of his gown. He is attempting to drink tea, and that's as far as my patience goes.

"Poison!" I push the teacup right out of his hand, and the piping hot liquid lands on the floor.

"Aw, man!" Koops brushes tea from his arm. I stare at him. For some reason people find me staring fixedly at them unnerving. It's my face, isn't it? It is! It is!

"What's going on here?"

It's Doctor Clawdia, just happening to walk by. Everybody in the packed cafeteria quiets down.

"Nothing." Shelly grabs some napkins and cleans up. "Iggy just spilled some tea."

Clawdia ignores her; instead, she turns to me. "Iggy, would you like to come and talk with me today?"

I stare at her. "No, I don't want to talk with you. You're mean. Go away." I shake my head.

"No?" Doctor Clawdia is so patronizing and false an infant would have seen through her. "We'll have you bathed. Maybe you'll feel better afterwards."

The nurse from earlier this morning has managed to clean the vomit out of her shoes. I can only guess that she'll have bigger trouble trying to get the half-inch deep fang marks out of her shoulders.


	3. Evil At Freaky Fred's

**I'm a very good little Koopaling. So I don't think this shirt thingie is necessary. Won't you help me get it off?**

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><p>You know the worst part of being locked up in a facility like Freaky Fred Memorial?<p>

The loneliness.

The difference between the asylum and Kastle Koopa is so vast that just a couple of days ago I wouldn't have believed it if anyone told me.

My house is a cake with three layers. There's King Dad, Mama Koopa, and my brothers Lemmy, Roy and Ludwig, and there's me. Mama says that we are the top layer, because our bedrooms are on the top floor. We always do fun things together. Then there's Kamek, Kamella and Kammy on the second floor. They take care of us and make sure we are healthy and happy. When King Dad is travelling and Mama Koopa is on tour, the Magikoopas are there for us. The third layer is where all the Goombas, Troopas and Toadies live. King Dad once told us that they are the most important layer, because they protect us and our realm day and night. You're never alone in Kastle Koopa, and no matter who you are, or how gross you are, you can always find someone with things in common.

At Freaky Fred's I find myself in a state of utter abandonment. It's so full of mammals and Koopas, but because of the house rules nobody dares to talk out of fear for whatever Doctor Clawdia keeps in the sleeve of her lab coat at all times.

I've learned from Shelly that to Clawdia I'm kind of a prized patient. I thought only a mammal could be evil enough to put those last two words in a sentence. I was wrong.

She looks at me. What exactly there is to fear about this woman is beyond me. Ludwig and I share a rare gift, the one where we can see through almost everybody. We may be, in Clawdia's words, insane, but we are not dumb.

For instance, I can see that Clawdia was bullied in school for many obvious and not so obvious reasons. First of all, she's a heavy woman. I myself do not have a problem with that, but many kids do, seeing as most kids are totally cruel. She also lacks any hint of social skills. Her traits obviously come from one of those self help books mammal women read. She's nowhere near as polite or kind as Mama, in fact, Mama is everything Doctor Clawdia is not. Her office reeks of the cheap perfume she douses herself in. Mama never uses perfume. She just smells like the soap we all use; like home. I fight hard to keep myself from crying. You must excuse me, but apart from Shelly I haven't really talked to any girls. That's why Doctor Clawdia frightens me.

"Good afternoon," she says kindly. I don't blink as I stare at her. She must be used to it. "Are you feeling better?"

I'm nauseous again. She crosses her legs. "You know, Iggy, I'm your friend. I wouldn't be here if I didn't sincerely want to help you. Did Miss Shelly tell you not to talk to me?"

If I say anything, I know Shelly will be in trouble. I carefully make sure that I don't…

_Change my face._

Out of nowhere, my claw lunges out into the air and I scratch Clawdia across her face, and I'm struck by panic, because now I have changed someone else's face. She immediately seizes me. I can't even feel the needle as it punctures my skin, but I can feel the effect of whatever was in it. All of a sudden my body feels numb, as if's asleep, but my mind is more awake than normal. Problem is though, someone has replaced my blood with lead, and I can't move a muscle. As a result I drool. It's humiliating.

"If you won't let Iggy talk to me, I'm gonna have to make the medicine talk for him," Clawdia says as she puts me on the corner napping sofa. She sees me as sickness.

"Now," she opens her note pad. "I was told that you cried last night. Why?"

Now that I can't feel hot or cold it's actually easier to screen my healthy thoughts from my "special" ones.

"I didn't cry." My voice is faint. I can't even feel it in my throat.

This time her face doesn't change. "Do you know what happens to little Koopas who don't tell the truth?" Her voice is the same also; kind and warm. Terrifying.

"They end up being all alone, because they are locked away in a white cell. You'll find out soon enough. You chose that fate by lying to me. I don't want to put you in that cell, Iggy, because it's such a terrible place, believe me. But it's the law."

I can't help but crying this time. The image is so vivid. And I'm so afraid. Fear is always around at Freaky Fred's.

"No, no, don't do that! I'll be good, I promise! You can't let that happen!"

But Doctor Clawdia, being the industrious and professional woman she is, is adamant as well. She drags my limp, cramping body out of her office, down the hall while I scream and try to kick.

The cell is completely white, and square shaped. There's a large grey pipe in the corner, covered with chicken wire, but that's all.

I'm too weak to stand, so I sink to my knees. I look up at Clawdia while my face is drenched in tears, and the lump of despair pressing against my windpipe.

"Please…" I beg. "I just wanna go home."

I sob helplessly, and she ruthlessly shuts the door.

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><p>Hours later I'm still sitting in the dark. My mind has stopped. The only thing to keep me company is my own heartbeat. Tick, tick, tick…<p>

Until I hear a suction-like sound from the air conditioning pipe.

"Ow! Watch out, fat head!"

"Don't call me fat head, you stupid geek!"

I get up so fast from the floor. It's my brothers, and the air condition pipe is actually a warp pipe!

"Roy? Lemmy?"

I try to catch a glimpse of them.

"It's us," Lemmy whispers. "The pipe is sealed on the other side."

"It's chicken wire, Lemmy." It's actually quite flimsy, so I just breathe some fire on it and it melts away.

"What are you waiting for? Hop in," Roy grumbles. I do, and two seconds later I land on the floor of Ludwig's lab.

I'm home. Is it a dream? Let's hope not…

"How did you know where to find me?" I ask.

Ludwig, my brother, comes out from the room where he stores his equipment. "We received a letter from one Shelly Koopa saying that you had been given Slumber Sleep."

He sits down on a counter. "Did Clawdia Greenkoop give you Slumber Sleep?"

I've never seen Ludwig so serious. "What's that?"

"Did she put a needle in your arm?"

I nod. Ludwig's snout stiffens.

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><p>Lemmy shows me a new ball trick. I'm so proud of him, and it's so good to be home. Ludwig carefully wipes my arm with some rubbing alcohol, as he is going to take a sample of my blood. He is very gentle with the needle. It's not gross at all.<p>

"There we go," he says as he places the little flask of blood on the carousel thingamajig. Two minutes later his printer starts and a long sheet of paper lands on the floor. Ludwig's round, dark eyes are serious as he reads it.

"So it really does exist." He finds a pen in his shell; also a box of Peachy Peach juice. "Drink this, you look like crap."

"What "it"?" I ask as I draw upon the sweet juice. "I can't read your mind, you know!"

For a second the look on my brother's face reveals his secret fear of such a possibility.

"Well, brother, I read in a mammal publishing about mental health about experimental drug trials, with acid and such... Apparently the antipsychotic Dr. Greenkoop helped develop is banned in the Mushroom Kingdom, but not in the Real World."

I'm suddenly epiphanic. "So that's why there's ward for Koopas there. But I can't say that I feel so bad now that I've taken it."

"What? No, Iggy, you can't keep taking it. It's still experimental and from what I can tell, these results show that it can cause flashbacks ten years from now. Greenkoop has to be stopped."

"We should tell King Dad," I say; hoping this would help me to get away from that place.

"Are you crazy?"

I stare at him. "Yes."

"OK, OK; wrong angle," Ludwig scratches his head, and his matted hair becomes even more matted. "I'm going to have to sleep on this. And you need to return to Freaky Fred before anyone knows you're missing!"

I sigh as he drags me over to the Warp Pipe again. I really want to go upstairs and say hello to Mama Koopa and King Dad, but the risk is just too big. I say goodbye to my brothers and moments later I'm back in the white cell.

Moments after I arrive I hear a key being turned, and soon, the female Medikoopa that I'm now so fond of smiles at me as she stands in the doorframe.

"It's time for dinner. Your timeout is up."

I realize that Clawdia never told me how long my stay in the white cell would be. The wretched reptile was content having me to believe that the place would be my tomb.

The evil at Freaky Fred's must end. But not by my claws. Because I'm a good little Iggy.


	4. Happy Tears, Sad Smiles

**CK89: Trust me, I know all there is to know about olanzapine. I'm one of many whose life was nearly destroyed by this chemical, which is why it helps to write this story. No, mental hospitals aren't very nice places, are they? I've been there too, but also there are different kinds. I spend three weeks a year at a great mental health facility where I'm treated with the utmost respect in comfortable, safe surroundings. Instead of taking pills, (I refuse all kinds of antipsychotics and antidepressants) I've agreed to this, um, agreement. But those places who aren't like that, are really not like that at all. It is in fact a prison, where the guards wear scrubs instead of uniforms, and carry panic buttons instead of tasers. Thanks for sharing your story with us. ^^**

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><p>It's Sunday. You'd think life in a mental institution was boring enough on weekdays, but Sunday kind of tops it. We sit around a cafeteria table, waiting for Koopie Koo to return with whatever she had managed to smuggle into the ward this time.<p>

I say we. "We" are Shelly, Koops, Koopie, Goombella, Lynnie and the part-time paraplegic Jerry, who in reality is a juvenile Magikoopa. Every day he marches, or rolls, down to the television and asks to see the news. When that doesn't work, he lines up in front of the radio and demands to hear the news. He has an obsession with the news. That or it's being cooped up behind two feet of fire-retardant plaster that is perpetually adding to whatever frailty he's suffering from. For me it's boredom mixed with all the unfathomable sad fates that patron this cold, hopeless place.

Koopie comes back with a stack of copier paper, and she reaches into her shell, retrieving four packs of crayons and even a sharpener. Everybody gasps in awe over this rare treat.

"Ssshh!" Koopie spits a little. "We don't want the Dementist to stick her botched nose job into this!"

"The Dementist" is one of our nicknames for Dr. Clawdia. "Attila the Shrink" is another. Fitting, don't you think?

I open the box closest to me. We have an abundance of the very same crayons back home, and I've really not cared much about them. It's different now. Having been deprived of entertainment and all my toys for a long time, the crayons look incredibly colorful. Kamek fills up the supply every week. Roy eats them, you see, as they keep his stomach regular. Obviously Koops feels the same, as he has a crayon almost to his mouth. Koopie gives him the stink eye from under her long, unkempt blonde hair.

"If you eat a single one of these crayons, I'll turn you into a cake pop. You being the cake pop and the stick being my foot in your ass."

Koops and the rest of us put the crayons to the paper instead. We draw in silence for a long time. I'm grateful towards Koopie as although she's foul-mouthed and treats Koops like something gross her cat spit up, she does nice things for us.

I make a picture of King Dad breathing fire, but after a while, I'm curious of the others'. "What are you drawing, Shelly?" I ask.

Shelly's drawing is of two rats having a tea party. "It's from Beatrix Potter," she says with a little smile. While I doubt that Beatrix Potter ever put rusty nails in her crumpets, her drawing is very well done. Lynnie has drawn a huge fat pig flying away on tiny wings with a caged sparrow in its front hooves. Although the pig cries, the picture is a happy one. Little Jerry is working on a rendering of a Magikoopa; one that is powerful and fearless. The casual silence between all of us gives me time to think, and the atmosphere created by our concentration makes me feel how sensitive and insightful the other kids are. All of their drawings are pitiful cries for freedom, and a plea for the unjust world to return the loved ones, hopes and dreams that it has taken away from them. I must help them.

When we're done we head back to the more populated part of the ward. I hide my drawing in my shell just before I'm stopped by Dr. Clawdia. What is it now, I wonder?

"You have a visitor," she says. I let her take my claw and take me to the sun parlor downstairs.

Mama Koopa is sitting in one of the wicker armchairs with her handbag on her knees. She has a troubled look in her eyes. I don't see it for long though; as soon as I see her I jump up in her lap and hold my arms around her. She doesn't say anything; just smiles and run her kind fingers through my hair. I shiver because I'm so happy.

"Are you really here right now, Mama?" I ask and bury my face in her shoulder.

"Of course I am, nugget." She kisses me, and it's so nice I return to the little pit between her clavicles. And I stay there as she cradles me for a long time. She's wearing her yellow plaid dress with the white apron that has teddy bears on the bottom; the one that makes King Dad tell unsavory jokes at the dinner table. Mama slaps him on the head when he does, and everyone returns to their cobblers. I miss that.

"I have something for you," I say as thinking of my father reminds me of the drawing. I take it out from my shell.

The drawing makes her laugh, and the sound is like music to me. "Wow, it' so accurate it could be the new state portrait."

"Are you here to take me home?"

"Not today, sweetheart. I was in the neighborhood and I just had to see you."

I know that she's lying to me, but I don't care. My inner scientist explains that it must have been her maternal instincts that have made her stray so far away from Kastle Koopa. We Koopas get homesick very easily, so we either stay at home or bring our home with us.

"What are you having for dinner at home tonight?" I ask.

"Smoked pork chops and baked potatoes."

"In April?"

"Oh, your father and Roy have been nagging about the barbeque season since the snow melted."

All of a sudden I realize how exhausted I am, so while I nod off, Mama opens the drawing completely, and Shelly's drawing, which I promised to keep safe, falls out.

"This is pretty," she says and straightens the paper out. "Did you draw this one too?"

"No," I reply. "Shelly drew that one."

Mama's smile now has some humor to it. "Hmm, this Shelly sure draws a nice tea set. But she shouldn't put broken glass in the sugar bowl. People could prick their fingers on them."

As I tuck the drawing back into my shell, new thoughts are born from… Wherever things are born from. Although I doubt it's as exciting as witnessing new creations go from notions to ideas to tangible things that makes sense.

"Ludwig wanted to come too," Mama says. "He had something he wanted to give you. He couldn't trust me with it, though…"

But I know that's one of Ludwig's codes.

I want this moment to last forever, but good things never do. One of the Medikoopas returns to tell me that it's time for dinner, and that Mama Koopa has to go home.

"Tell everyone at home that I miss them." I hug Mama as she sits on the edge of the Warp Pipe.

"I will, son. They miss you too." She waves and then eases herself into the oblivion.

It's hard to eat this bland, starch-laden goop when I know that Kamek would make crispy paninis for everyone if he was here. Shelly's not at the table, and Jerry has been drugged to the gills, making it impossible for him to chew, much less swallow his food. He is leaning against the blackened television set, drooling himself and occasionally rocking back and forth, even though that's not allowed.

"I wanna watch CNN," he lethargically drones as I sit down next to him. "Iggy, I wanna watch the news." But he knows I can't reach the on button either.

I notice a wad of cotton taped to his arm, and then the many rows of cuts all everywhere else on the pale limb.

"Jerry, why do you cut yourself?" I ask. It's not a big secret that he's a cutter, as he has been removed from the cafeteria several times for doing it in front of everybody.

"It's not me," he says, and a particularly large stream of saliva runs down his cheek. I wipe it with the sleeve of his bathrobe. "It's the shot Dr. Clawdia gives me. I want to cry, but it won't let me. It won't let me scream either. I just want it out of me."

"The drug?" I ask.

"No. the crying and screaming. It goes on in my head."

I'm so angry I go ahead with my plan a little too early and too rashly. I grab one of the chairs and send it into the TV, which is never on and it's beyond everyone why it's here in the first place. It doesn't even take five seconds for Clawdia's goons to get out of their precious nurse's station and seize me.

I put on a big show and turn to Dr. Clawdia, and I scream: "I teabagged your frickin' chemistry set!"

The white cell is empty, conveniently enough, but I can't use the disguised Warp Pipe right away. I have to wait for the first blanket of Slumber Sleep – fog to vanish.

* * *

><p>Ludwig is waiting for me in his lab. I can't really stand, so he rushes over to me and helps me to a seat; the armchair we can't have in the lounge anymore because Roy scribbled "FAK JU" in the headboard. When I'm conscious again, he reaches me yet another box of peach juice.<p>

"Sorry," he says. "But there's just no use talking to you when you're present yet not here."

"I knew that," I say for no apparent reason.

"Well, you'll be happy to know that I've found an antidote for that dreadful dose." Ludwig takes the cap of a syringe, and pricks me in the arm with it before I get the chance get a proper look at it.

"OW!" I exclaim.

"I'm sorry, but for the antidote to work as best the nerves need a good jolt. The thickest syringe needle is after all the best answer."

"Well, I think it's sadistic." I rub my arm.

"Bullscheiβe," Ludwig retorts and cover my gaping "track mark" with sterile cotton.

It doesn't take long for the antidote to exorcise every particle of the awful Slumber Sleep out of my system. My body is so grateful for this my heart want to masticate Ludwig's shoulder, you know, as a sign of affection.

"Don't even think about it," he warns. I grin. "Can I take a vial with me?"

"Take all you want," Ludwig replies. "I'm making a second batch which is more stabile and won't require a horse needle."

I'm about to leave as I'm reminded of why I really came here. "I have a plan to help the other Koopas," I say. "Would you mind helping me?"

"I'll help you. Just tell me what it is."

* * *

><p>I return to the ward and when let out of the white cell, I immediately set course for the TV corner. If Jerry gets some antidote, he can cry and scream again!<p>

But there is enough crying and screaming when I reach my destination. Everyone is there. Jerry somehow got his claws on a sharp object, and now he lies on the floor with his hand and wrist in a pool of blood.

Shelly sees me, and grabs my claw. "It's terrible! He found a razor blade and he tried to kill himself!"

I fear the worst as the little Magikoopa is picked up and carried out of the ward. Shelly cries and so does Koops. I don't know why, but Koopie looks terribly guilty.

Poor Jerry. All he wanted was to become a big, strong Magikoopa. But I don't blame him! Don't you think for one second that he's the one to blame. I tuck away the antidote for now; it'll be useful in the future.

A future that won't happen if I let them keep destroying us.


	5. I, Clawdia

Koopie has been crying for three days without a single break, but now she rests, her wispy hair splayed over a pillow in the living room's couch. She sobs in her sleep from time to time, and when she does, Shelly and I take turns holding her hand and stroking her over her head. The reason we watch her like hawks is because if Doctor Clawdia gets her snout in Koopie's mental state, it won't be long for the latter to end up with a needle in her arm and a sharpie mark on either temple.

I don't know why she's so upset, but I think it has something to do with Jerry, the little Magikoopa who tried to kill himself. What else could it be? It _is_ a stretch, however. If one of the residents choose to end their life, we others side with them. Suicide isn't a tragedy for us; death is always a welcome guest at Freaky Fred's. I've learned so quickly not to be frightened or bereaved, but now it bothers me how a veteran like Koopie can fall apart over a simple case of artery-slashing.

Jerry is fine, though. He lost a lot of blood, but he's slowly recovering at Toad Town Hospital, where he has his own room and can watch the news all day. The poor simpleton, all he wanted was to watch TV. Again, the bothering. It shows how being here reduces us.

Koopie yawns and turns over to her side. I close my eyes for a moment, remembering the worst I've been subjected to by Clawdia.

Last month I was awakened by the evil healer herself before anyone else were up. The night shift wasn't even over. I'm pretty sure why. She made me take a bath, then put a Real World t shirt on me. She took me out of the hospital, but made me hold her hand all the time. When we were out of everybody's sight, I was given a dose of Slumber Sleep. The thing is, however, that Ludwig's antidote has made me resistant to it. Immune. So I pretended to be asleep the entire train trip.

When we finally reached our destination, a large white house made of cement, I was taken by complete strangers to a little room, where I waited. And waited.

When they returned for me, they refused to answer my questions. I was dragged over to Dr. Clawdia, who waited for me in front of a large blue carpet. I recognized the room as a backstage place.

"Are we in the theater?" I asked.

"Sort of," she said coldly. "Follow me, be quiet and stand completely still."

The first thing that greeted me behind that curtain was the light; sharp like a hundred blades they stung me in the eyes. When I adjusted my glasses, I saw Koopas, Toads, and Humans; hundreds of them, sitting in rows. The area is humongous. We're not in a theater; we're in a hangar-like room. Along the walls were booths and banners, with pharmaceutical brand names and slogans. It must be some kind of drug convention, I thought to myself. There was a microphone taped to Clawdia's cheek. I look up at her. If Mama Koopa had been in the audience that would be the time she would have leaned over to Kamek and asked how Clawdia, with all that lipstick, managed not to paint her teeth as well. Kamek would snicker, and King Dad would have been asleep.

Dr. Clawdia must have attributed my mellow expression to her designer drug as well. She pointed to me, her hand open, and turned to the audience.

"Yes, as you can see, after only eight weeks of being administered a low dose of Silentium, the subject is completely meek and calm. At this point I should point out that this subject is one of the most obstinate, violent and impulsive patient I have ever dealt with in my 20 years as a medical doctor. Now look at him. I know that no drug alone can eliminate a mental disease, but thanks to its benign effects…"

She closed her eyes like a monk experiencing nirvana as the press took her picture. "…The true healing can begin."

Gee; I wonder what cheesy Lifetime movie she got that one from. I stared at her; not because I was meek and calm, but because I had finally decided to destroy her. I, scrawny little Iggy Koopa, was going to slay the dragon. I'm still adamant; if I have to sell Lemmy's soul, as his is the only valuable soul in Dark Land, and piss my life away, I'm going to crush Dr. Clawdia like the vermin she is.

This episode did have its ramifications. King Dad was so furious he threatened to sue the entire hospital and Doctor Clawdia personally. Unfortunately that was after pharmaceutical concerns in both the Mushroom World and Real World were all battling for the Silentium formula, so every single one of them lined up in front of Dr. Clawdia and Freaky Fred's. Sometimes I wonder what a world without lawyers would be like.

The winners are Pink Pharmaceuticals, situated in the United States. Ludwig told me so the last time I snuck off to visit Kastle Koopa. The company has made Dr. Clawdia a very wealthy woman. Of course, the millions of dollars she received from the formula alone are nothing compared to what the company will earn on the drug sales.

* * *

><p>There's mushroom soup for lunch today. I butter a piece of bread and use it for a spoon when Shelly marches up to me. She sits down, and if looks could kill, I'd be face down in the chowder by now.<p>

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I can't believe you let her make you the poster child for Slumber Sleep. Dickbrain!" she says, and her tone is rather accusatory. It's about the thirteenth time today. Say what you want about Shelly, but her commitment to being a sourpuss is nothing short of astounding.

"Well, you could try to wrap your head around the fact that I didn't really have much of a choice." I chew on the buttered bread. I find it a safe food as it doesn't have much taste. Shelly gives me that kiss of death with her eyes again and I hurl my spoon into the table.

"What_ is_ your problem?"

King Dad once explained to me that when girls are upset, they expect boys to understand what's wrong without an explanation; that it's in their nature. Unfortunately for him, Mama Koopa heard him and made him sleep on the couch for days.

Shelly looks sad now. I hope I haven't been too harsh.

"I've been in this hospital for six years, Iggy. Every day these last years I've asked when I can go home. Clawdia says "not yet", but I know on the inside that's her bureaucrat babble meaning that I will never get out of here. I want my mom, Iggy. I want my friends and I want… Booger brains! – to go back to school. My brain is atrophied from being unused. And do you know why she'll never let me go?"

I shake my head.

"Because I was the _original_ poster child for Slumber Sleep. They started the trial on me – assface! That's why I have tics. Koopie? Why she's so angry. If that ever came out..."

I hug Shelly, and I don't let go until a shadow fall over us. It's Koops, holding Koopie's hand. She is red around the eyes from dehydration and crying, and her skin is almost completely white; matching her sallow, dry hair.

"She says she wants to talk to you," he says. He transfers her hand to mine, and Shelly takes the other. We take her unseen to Shelly's room, which is much more lived-in than mine. Drawings on lunch paper, napkins and candy wrappers plaster the walls, and she has her own quilt. It's not as nice as the one I have on my bed at home, but still, it's colorful and nice to look at.

Koopie wipes some clear mucus off her face with the sleeve of her nightshirt. "I wanna see Jerry," she says, heartbroken. But there's something else to her voice. It's guilt.

"And you will. He'll be back here next week." I help clean her snout with some paper towels. But my words don't comfort her. She begins sobbing again.

"He almost died and it's my fault." Koopie's dead eyes leak tears. "I traded him the razorblade. He… He said he wanted to attack Clawdia with it. He lied, but it's still my fault."

"But he didn't die, Koopie." I let her rest her head on my knees as she cries. Kamek does the same for us at home when we're having a bad day.

"I know." She's trembling, so Shelly puts a blanket over her. "But Clawdia found out, and she says that she was gonna see me about it on Friday. And – and I just know she's gonna do something awful to me."

I just know it, too. How could anyone as cruel as Attila the Shrink resist?

We both comfort Koopie, but she's still distraught. "I'm so scared."

* * *

><p>Jerry returns to the ward the Friday in question. His mother has given him a big box of <em>Kompeitō,<em> a Japanese type candy, as he is obsessed with everything Japanese. He shares with everybody before steering his chair over to the others. We're sitting quietly, waiting for Koopie to come back from her session.

We wait, and we wait, but Koopie doesn't return. Not for dinner, not for medication time, or TV privileges. The next time we see her, is late in the evening. She's sitting in one of the armchairs with her chin propped up by her knees. She's quiet; not even breathing. She's not crying either.

I fetch Shelly and Koops; the latter being the first of us to try and talk to her.

"Koopie? What's going on?"

She doesn't reply. It's as if she can't hear or see us.

Shelly seems to understand what's going on. She gently moves Koopie's hair away from her face.

"Look. The perversion continues."

There's an X on her temple, made with a black marker. And another on the left side, too.

"What is it?" Koops asks."Is she dead?"

"ECT treatment," Shelly says ominously. "This is awful. Come on, girl…" She tries to shake some life into Koopie.

Out of nowhere Koopie emits a wraithlike, guttural screech. Her face doesn't change as she does it, but still it frightens me. We hear some noises from the nurses' station, and Koops sense danger, so he lifts Koopie into his arms and takes her to her room.

I sigh and sit down in the now empty armchair.

"I apologize if you feel I've been sitting on the fence," I say to Shelly. "But I didn't believe you at first. None of us can get used to this place. It's impossible."

"Are you gonna help us, Iggy?" Shelly smiles and the expression borderlines on evil. I don't mind this change at all…

"I will. That's a promise."

Ludwig is the oldest one of us, and as such, he knows everything about the mind and body. There must be a scientific explanation as to why I care about Shelly so much. I'm nervous as she kisses me on the nose. I can feel that it's from gratitude, but it still makes me feel very funny. Shelly's my best friend. Like Lemmy, but very different. I'll do like King Dad did for Mama and give Shelly a diamond ring one day. I'm sure I have enough in my piggy bank for it. But only after Ludwig performs all the necessary tests on us. I know that Shelly would also hate to burden the world with non-superior offspring.

I kiss her back. For some reason this makes it easier to plot revenge.


	6. Unique Individuals

I'm sorry for the delay. It's been a while since I've written anything and there are reasons for it, such as me paying off the last of a bad debt, my mother going through her third divorce, and my asinine brother quitting his job before finding another, that you don't come here to read about. I try very hard not to share stuff like this online, because in 99.99999999 of the cases, people don't care; which I understand, and it's why I blocked someone at another webpage I frequent. But as long as the people with actual conditions/problems needing to vent are mature and not to mention approachable, it's OK once in a while. But when it becomes persistent whining, people are in their right to draw a line when they can't take it anymore. I wanted to say to this person: I don't care if you have cancer, or Asperger or whatever you're most likely faking this week; you don't nag about it online. Heck; I could be bleeding out of my ass right now and still an online audience would be the very last ones I'd tell. Now, that's what I call a relief.

* * *

><p>Ludwig is the one of my siblings I trust the most. I trust him with my life, although not with my money. I let him and Lemmy take care of their part of the plan without any nagging.<p>

Lemmy is in the kitchen, stacking stoneware into his little cart. He doesn't know that this is the part of the day when Mama Koopa comes down to the kitchen to with tonight's dinner menu. She opens the door to find him next to the stoneware hutch.

"Lemmy-sweetheart," she asks, "Why are you taking all of my hand-painted wedding china?"

Luckily, my brother has an explanation. "I'm playing tea party with Wendy. She's Mrs. Periwinkle, and I'm Mrs. Mauve."

Mama buys it; she loves it when we all get along. Priceless artifacts are a small price to pay for family peace; at least that's what she thinks.

"That's nice," she says with her tender smile, and in the same warm tone she adds; albeit with a crooked smile: "Don't tell your dad."

Ludwig sits on the counter in his lab. Because it's December, he has put sparkles and colorful lights on all of his Piranha Plants. They all cringe every time their small brains help them forget that they saw their reflections in the steel hygiene barrier, and see themselves again.

"Ah, very nice, little brother." Ludwig holds up one of the china cups, as if to inspect whether or not their counterfeit. "They will do nice for our little Christmas get-together."

Lemmy likes hearing that. "Get-together?" He asks happily. "Will there be _pie_?"

Ludwig ignores him. At least for the moment, as Roy enters the laboratory.

"OK, smartass; I got the tea from Kamek's potion cabinet just like you wanted." He slams a beautiful silver tin of Russian Earl Grey tea into the table.

"Did he catch you?" Ludwig inspects the tin, then the tea.

"Red-handed, but then Toadie's diaper caught on fire and I amscrayed. I dunno why he insists on keeping her around."

Toadie is a baby Toady whose egg was abandoned by her mother at the Koopa Troop's children's hospital. Toadies are Magikoopas, but without any other magical powers than the propellers on their heads. King Dad likes Toadies; they're very reliable and submissive; it's in their species' name and nature to assume minimal amount of power and most of the heavy lifting But he doesn't like having to deal with them himself, so he pawns them off on Kamek. At least Toadie is now over the Solo Toady – stage, where all they do is making diapers dirty, eat and scream.

"Excellent." When the others can't see it, Ludwig puts something in the tea. "I think I'll wear something extra nice this year."

* * *

><p>There's Christmas spirit at Freaky Fred's too. Shelly and I are decorating a tree with sparkly paper cranes and child-proofed candy canes, while all the other kids are hanging paper poinsettias on the walls. Jerry the suicidal Magikoopa has hip lap full of anti-ligature glitter garlands, and the cleaning lady has put a little extra phenol in her cleaning agent in honor of the season. There's only one thing missing, but, as King Dad always says when being caught eating cookies before dinner, "all good things to those who steal them".<p>

"Hi, dumbasses!" Koopie shows up, with her hair tied back and her shirt carefully tucked into her plastron. I don't know how she does it. I raise an eyebrow. "Koopie, why are you always so abusive towards us?"

She stands there like a question mark, eyeing me in a pretty rude manner. "You don't expect me to remember anyone's name, do you? "Dumbass" is just more convenient. Check this out. Hey, dumbass?"

Jerry wheeled his chair in the front of everybody. "Yes?"

"See?" Koopie says nonchalantly. "Convenient!"

I decide not to say more, as it is such a relief to see her as her normal, insufferable self again.

The doctors and nurses are having a conference, and have left us in the care of a few sleepy orderlies who didn't even care to lock the door to the white cell after disciplining Shelly for her latest tantrum. I nudge the latter as Koopie is handing out contraband unadulterated sugar cookies. "It's time."

"But I want a cookie!" she pouts.

"You can have all the freaking cookies you want when we get out of here. So many that I'll be your friend even when you become horribly, horribly fat."

She smacks me on the head for that one.

The white cell is open, and I can hear Lemmy snoring below in the pipe. I take off the chicken wire, and Shelly takes it as she goes to keep an eye on the orderlies from afar.

"Lemmy? Lemmy, wake up!" I knock on the warp pipe. I hear him gasp, and also some clanking noises.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "There was just so much stuff to do I didn't have time for my nap."

He climbs up the pipe, and takes a peek at us. "I have everything we need right here." He hands me a pillow case, and from the bulges and depressions in it, I can tell it's Mama's finest china.

"Awesome!" Shelly says as she inspects the booty.

"I know!" Lemmy squints happily. "I'm sorry for the wait, but I told Mama the china was for playing tea party with Wendy. And it made me feel bad, so I _had_ to play with her a little."

No wonder why Roy and Ludwig lost their patience with him. I think Lemmy's consideration for others is kind of sweet, though.

"Iggy," Lemmy says shyly. "When you and Shelly get married, can I come to the party too?"

That's the explanation we served _him_. "Of course," I say. "We'll iron the extra napkin."

"And I'll send your invitation down the pipe this Friday," Shelly finishes.

* * *

><p>Dr. Clawdia's eyes are tearing up. But from happy tears. Avaricious happy tears, but still, you know; happy tears. This is the very moment she's been waiting for all her life. She sits there in her pink plaid skirt suit and faux designer-label labcoat while the people from the company praise her depravities. I'm at her side, listening to it, while pretending to be a serotonin zombie.<p>

"The trials at Elk Pastures Psychiatric have been so promising we're willing to offer a very generous settlement should you elect to let us continue to develop the formula This medication will revolutionize modern psychiatry."

Elk Pastures? They were dealing this poison somewhere else?

There are four representatives of different major pharmaceutical companies present in the conference room. Something's wrong with this picture. At least what I'm seeing can't be a completely legal picture. So I'm working very hard to make it look like the drug is rendering me incapable of questioning authority. Huh. The corporate messenger that's now talking to Clawdia shifts his scrawny self in the chair and hands her a piece of paper; possibly a check. Her eyes tear up to the point of bleeding mascara. I try not to hurl into the jug of water that's partially distorting her face.

"Oh, I don't see myself as a revolutionary, Mr. Khilbot. All I want is to help needy little ducklings – like this one." She pats me on the head, and I fight urges belonging to forces beyond me.

"See? He doesn't even try to bite me. I have changed his life."

The smug look on her face makes me want to bite her – but myself even more.

* * *

><p>After dinner (mushy mac and cheese) Koopie, Koops, Goombella, Jerry and I go down to the rec area to make paper hearts for the ward's windows. I'm a little sad, because today was mail day, and my parents sent me a letter saying I couldn't come with them to our winter palace this year. I had to stay behind at the ward. Lemmy had added a Christmas card though; that read "Yure mai frend Iggy. I like cheesy puffs. Roy put this in mai bed, it was prettie so nao I give it to yu. Hugg fram Lemmy."<p>

What Roy had but in his bed was a dead centipede. That was a considerate touch.

Shelly came back from her session with Dr. Clawdia fifteen minutes later.

"Can I talk to you for a moment, dipshit?" she asks. In that moment Koopie had another one of her angry outbursts; "Jerry, you're not supposed to eat the popcorn, you dumbass!"

"I don't think anyone will be spying," I say dryly. "What's going on?"

She hands me a wrapped present. "I know that letter made you sad, so I've decided to give you your _shitty_! - present a little early."

I unwrap the gift. It's a dog-eared, tattered issue of _Reader's Digest_. "Thank you," I say, as to not hurt her feelings.

"It's in the middle, numbskull."

Maybe she meant that one. I shake the magazine, and out comes a thin, lightweight, and deadly scalpel.

"Iggy, I've thought of something," She says. "If we kill Dr. Clawdia, we will never get out of here alive ourselves."

"Oh…" Bummer. But I perk up immediately. "Then we'll find someone else to do it."

"Who?"

I smile. I like to smile, even though I'm changing my face. I haven't really been afraid lately; it's been so nice to have something else to focus on. And besides, when you're at a mental facility for long and get to know the other inmates, your own disease is soon assimilated into theirs, creating a complicated, exclusive, and _excluding_ subculture.

"Don't worry, Shelly. The one I have in mind is the one she must hate the most of all."

* * *

><p><strong>And who could that be?<strong>


	7. We Are Here To Help You

**"When the world is turning**

**You'll find your true nature**

**When the first is last and the last is first**

**You'll be where you choose to be"**

* * *

><p>Ludwig spent a year in this place too, a long time ago, before I was born. You see, my father's side of the family has a long history of unique individuals in its bloodline, and you have no idea how proud I am to be one of them. But I will never measure up to Ludwig's... individuality, thanks to a tiny, tiny influence on my genes from my mother's placid and docile nature. Behavioral traits are handed down; there's only one U in "nature". This bothers me sometimes, because it will keep me from ever turn homicidal. Oh, dear. How I wold disappoint my sweet mother if she ever found out I told you that.<p>

I punish my naughty thoughts by slicing a deep gash from my elbow to my wrist, avoiding the arteries but nicking quite a few veins. You know how good it feels, dont you? Or maybe you wish you did. I can tell you that it's relief beyond comforting words. The ruptured scales reveal a web of fatty tissue protecting the flesh underneath. The blood soaks through the pillowcase and no amount of bleach will ever get it out. It's Koopa blood; thick, sticky and notoriously colorfast. Go ask your pal Mario. He used to spend all his time in between performances getting it off his shirt. He gave up though, so now you know how his clothes get dyed. I pause and let my thoughts race. It's so funny how my record lists me as a blue-blood when my blood is as red as any Koopa's.

We'll get back to Ludwig while waiting for the bleeding to stop. He has agreed to help Dr. Clawdia help herself. I gently wipe the blade to not blunt it. You thought I was going to ambush my own physician and drive the scalpel into her temple? Oh, no, my friend; what she has done to me and my friends is beyond revenge. She must be taught the way, just like we have been. We understand now. After all, we weren't taken here to die for our sins, but repent them, and mend our ways. I believe that Clawdia can also make changes for the better. But only if she's given the chance. My brother agrees, and he knows how to help her.

When he resided at Freaky Fred's, an unpleasant incident occurred, where he refused to take his medicine in a fit of disobedience. Dr. Clawdia tasered him into submission; a practice that's since fallen into disuse. As a result, Ludwig's been permanently jittery and his hair won't come down. Lithium won't stabilize his highs and it has negative effects on his scientific performances. He hides it well, but he dares to be himself in front of me and Roy. I cheer him up when he's at a low point, and Roy can restrain him when he gets in over his own head, literally. I just didn't make the connection until now.

"So you see now why I take this so personally?" He asks as he sutures my wound. The stitches are beautiful; like black lace. I wonder how a scientist specializing in chemicals and occasional musician has learned to perform minor surgeries. His gloved hands feel strange against my scales, and my face twitches, changing several times over naught but seconds.

"It's OK, _mein _brother. We're almost done with the touching-part. I just need a clear answer from you."

"I understand," I say.

"_Gut_. Please put that back." He says as his back is turned rummaging for a gauze sleeve in the first aid cabinet.

I frown and pull out the wooden mallet I nicked when I thought he couldn't see me. Ludwig never bears a grudge, though. Grudges are un-Koopalinglike. He places the potential murder weapon out of my hands.

"I know you want the, um, intervention to succeed, but Iggy-dear, you must have patience. I promise you we _will _be successful."

How can anyone promise that, I wonder.

"If we fail, however," Ludwig adds, brow raised, "That I'll come to you during visiting hours, and tie myself to the windowsill so you can pelt my chest with broken crayons. Sounds good to you, yes?"

"Sure." Hopefully he won't get more than he bargains for.

The newly sutured wound on my arm stings as Ludwig strokes a small dab of moisturizer over it. "Remember to put on a little every time you wash you hands." He frowns. "Whether or not you do, that cut is going to leave a nasty scar."

I can tell that he wants to ask me why I did it, but realize he's better off not knowing.

"I really hope I will not pass my bad habits to my own offspring," I say, looking at the big picture of little Wendy and Morton that Ludwig keeps over his desk. They're still too young to feel the weight of life on their shells.

"I lose sleep every night worrying about the same thing, Iggy." Ludwig covers his most recent edition of Eugenics Quarterly as he says that and holds up another one of his Erlenmeyer flasks.

"Dr. Clawdia keeps the ward's supply Silentium in transfusion bottles, not vials, am I right?"

"Mhm," I nod. "She likes to serve it farm fresh."

"Good, that will make this a lot easier. This is sterile water combined with a small drop of my antidote; synthetic Imagicillin. All you need to do is to inject this into the faucet on every IV line. It will render the Silentium completely harmless. Iggy,"

He adds as I shell the fate of Freaky Fred's and leave for the pipe. I turn around.

"An enemy hung by the rope they fashioned themselves always makes for a happy ending." He tosses over the vial of intact Silentium. I tilt my head and smile at my brother, as I desperately want to let him how much of my heart that is his. Even when he calls me Dummkopf.

"Tonight," I say.

"Tonight," he replies.

* * *

><p>Shelly is also shaking as I return. I pretend to read the TV guide and ask her what's wrong.<p>

"Iggy," she whimpers, and a few expletives and secrets from her sister's diary jumps out as well. "I was at Dr. Clawdia's office today. She... she says she wants to do to me... what she did to Koopie. She thinks that it will take care of my little problem."

Now, now, no crying. It is frightening to see her breaking the unwritten rule she bashed into my head my entire first day here. Koopie is sitting in her favorite chair, while Koops tries to get her to eat something. Most of the time she's unresponsive, and every time Jerry shows himself she begins her guilty wailing, which attracts nurses, ordierlies and the wretched Dr. Clawdia.

My blood may be red, but I'm a noblekoopa. A legally insane nobleman's psych ward is his castle. When an evil force threatens the women of his castle, it's up to the King to protect them from harm. But this force is already causing harm to my women, and I can no longer stand idly by. Guilt stings at my heart as I realize I should have done something much sooner.

Shelly then notices the sutures on my arm. She scoffs. "You just couldn't help yourself, could you? You're pathetic." She doesn't say it, she sprays it, on my cheek.

"Shelly..."

"You said you'd take care of Clawdia as soon as you had the means. Do you have any idea what I had to do to get that sharp?" She stomps the linoleum. "Before you actually get around to act on your plan I'll be... Koopie."

"It's not going to happen, Shelly. I promise you that."

"You can't promise me that, you retard."

"Well," I say, trying to remember what my brother said that actually did reassure me, "If I fail you I will visit you in solitary, tie myself to the restraint bed so you can pelt my chest with broken crayons."

Shelly shoulders become relaxed. "Oh, Iggy; I would never do that." She hugs me, and for once the voices does not tell me to hurt the person that's close to me. A crooked smile spreads across her pale face. "My crayons are really expensive."

* * *

><p>You may wonder why I've held on to this scalpel for so long. A scalpel is good for many things; surgeries, pedicures, cleaning fossils - and jimmying doors open. A credit card is the stereotype, but since when did underage lunatics tote any of those around? Scalpels on the other hand... With a quick and graceful swing of my wrist, the door to my room opens. Little Christmas Eve, how perfect. I know for a fact that since it's also Friday, Clawdia is working late in her office, either typing in recordings of her patient sessions, or trying to find a date on the computer. I dare not speculate which endeavour would be most successful.<p>

Yesterday afternoon I saw Shelly as she was prepped for the ECT treatment. As her bed was wheeled behind the "RESTRICTED" doors of the ward she didn't look frightened. She trusts that I'll save her. Either that, or she's given into despair. No. I can't allow myself to think these thoughts. Sadness has no place in a Christmas-decorated mental ward.

Christmas, indeed. Because of it half the staff is missing and those who have remained are not at their posts. One has left the door open a crack, probably to smoke or get coffee. It does seem convenient though, so I keep the knife within easy reach. If I have to hurt someone, I will, because I've decided that as of this point on, all bets are off.

Even the door to Clawdia's office is open, but the light in the hall is off, and the one in her office is dimmed, so I don't cast a shadow as I tiptoe past it. For some reason or another, Freaky Fred's fire safety regulations are very strict; much stricter than Kastle Koopa's. One of these restrictions makes it illegal for orderlies to lock restrained patients inside their rooms. And Shelly is indeed restrained. After I unhook her wrist and leg straps, I cut the ties on her straight jacket, and the long canvas sleeves fall to the floor. She rubs her wrists.

"Thank you," she whispers. I smile, but to myself I think that I'd give all my birthday presents to Roy if Shelly did not have another vocal tic as we're standing here.

As we leave the room, however, I accidentally walk right into a bucket on wheels that the janitor must have left. It speeds right across the hallway floor and crashes into a potted plant. I curse myself as the carpeted part of the hallway was only a yard away from said plant and would have made the bucket stop rolling. No such luck. The bucket veers, and water inside the bucket even spills onto the floor far down the dark hall.

Dr. Clawdia minimizes a webpage that should be kept clandestine, and says: "Who's there?"

We hear her getting on her feet. Shelly trembles in fear, but I hold her hands in mine.

"Calm down, Shelly. We have nothing to fear anymore. From now on, it's you and me. And our friends. No one is gonna stop us now."

"Oh, Iggy," she says tenderly.

She calms down, and her eyes are soft. Standing there in our tattered straight jackets we exchange tongues and bodily fluids that are very big potential harbingers of disease vectors. Ludwig says the layman's term for the act is "making out". He must have read it in _Redbook_. I say to you as a reader that you shouldn't read such an obscene periodical. It's not good for your mental health.

It makes me feel good, though, so no wonder why people do it. I keep holding her hands. My heart is palpitating, my palms are perspiring, and my breath is short. It worries me, so I tell Shelly as the footsteps of doom approaches.

"That's being in love, you scientist," she says. Her voice is still warm, and it makes my abdominal cavity feel as if filled with cherry soda or butterflies. The scientist in me can't help but theorize as to what purpose these emotional responses have.

"You two," Dr. Clawdia growls as she shines her penlight right into our eyes. Shelly whimpers and clutches my hands. I just stare right back at the hag.

"You can't hurt us anymore, you two-faced bitch," I snarl back at her. Mama would pass out if she had heard me saying that word. I take a step forward to shield Shelly. "We are no longer afraid of you."

"Really," she says as she approaches. We turn on our heels and try to jog as quickly as possible down the hall. Shelly's legs are weak after spending such a long time tied down, and she's too heavy for me to carry. I really should have borrowed Roy's workout DVD's last summer instead of Ludwig's pile of Science Illustrated.

"Come back here, you deviants," she shouts; the little she remembers from her Hippocratic Oath - classes slash doodling the name of her latest crush in her notebook - time is now forgotten. "When I get my claws in you, I'm gonna fry your brains until there's a blackout in every town a hundred miles from here!"

Unfortunately for us the hallway leads us to a dead end; the fire escape, and the door will not respond to my scalpel. Even if it did, I'm not leaving my friends in the lurch. I think about my family as I see the syringe dangling from Clawdia's stubby fingers. She must have thought that false nails would make them more tapered, but they don't. I still don't hate her as much as I pity her.

"There you are." She towers in front of us. "Iggy Koopa, you have broken so many rules that you're beyond solitary. I'm taking a piece of your brains out."

"No!" Shelly cries out. "That's illegal!"

"No one will ever know." Clawdia reaches for my face. "I'll tell your families that you killed yourselves and that you were so messed up we had to cremate you. I'll put you both in the white room, without windows and even a toilet. No one will find you... I will not have a blot on my record. Not now as I'm filthy rich."

"From peddling poison!"

"Shut your filthy trap!" Clawdia grabs Shelly's neck, pulling her close to her face. "You will be the first blot to be erased."

I'm about to defend my woman with a scalpel when a colorful ball hits Clawdia in the shoulder. I think I'm hallucinating, but I realize that Clawdia can see it too.

"I just hit the jackpot!" It's Lemmy. He's standing in the faint moonlight reflected in the waxed linoleum, wearing one of little Wendy's dresses and a pink curly wig. I hear screams in the background as he's doing a tippy toe dance, but it's not the other kids. It's the only orderlies left on the ward. Clawdia reaches for her panic button, but as she sets course for Lemmy, she slips on the dirty mop water and falls. I grab her syringe and look at the contents; since I took extra caution to contaminate every bottle of the horrible Silentium I'm aware of the slight yellowish tint that Ludwig's perfected antidote causes. The sedative in this syringe is harmless. I herefore eject it onto the floor and reach for the only dose that is still potent.

"Clawdia," I say. "All your coworkers are dead. No one is going to save you." I don't want to stand over her; that's unfair. Her ankle is sprained, so I roll up her labcoat and lay it under her foot. She knows that none of the other orderlies will show before the next morning.

"Let me give you something to calm your nerves," I say. She violently opposes this, and it confuses me, as this is her own wunderdrug, that she recommends so glowingly to any doctor willing to listen, or close enough to hear.

"Look who it is, Doctor Iggy," Shelly says and I look up as I finish injecting the Silentium into Clawdia's shoulder.

Ludwig approaches wheeling a chair towards us; hair wilder than ever before and wearing an iodine-stained labcoat. I have no evidence yet to say it's not iodine.

"Ah," I say. "_Doktor _K. Vorkian. Hopefully you had a pleasant trip."

"_So sehr _pleasant, _ja_." He smiles wickedly. Oh, he's decided to do the insane Nazi physician after all. I'm so happy, and I won't make him get me another Christmas present for as long as I'm a Koopaling, that is, unless he keeps hogging my microscope. He didn't put on the red arm band though, even without the weird symbol on it he must have thought it crossed the line.

"_Und hier_ we have our Patient, _ja_?" He kneels on the other side of Clawdia. "Ooh. Ziz's worse zan I thought, ze zubject has harmed herself during eine _Fluchtversüch_? I cannot treat a person who is not _bereit _to make a change."

"Well, _Doktor_, I really hope you will stay for our intervention anyway. The other board members are _dying _to meet you."

I'm having the time of my life. And the best thing is knowing that it'll only get better from here.

"Gut, zat changes _alles_, does it not." Dr. Vorkian has conveniently brought an adult-sized straightjacket in the seat of the wheelchair. I recognize it all of a sudden; it's the same one I was put in when I first got here; with the spokeguards complete with the green aliens on them. Wowza. It's hard to tell which part of my brother I admire the most; his homicidal tendencies, scientific prowess, or attention to detail.

"I am deeply concerned with the status of this patient. You see, _Doktor_, I've been working with her for so long, but I feel that my approaches to her ailment falls short of what is needed."

"_Verdenken _not yourself, _Doktor _Ignatius. I always tell you, _wärend _our internship, you take patient care too _persönlich_. Now, take me to the _Sitzungsaal_. I am also anxious to meet your _Kollegen_."

We break characters for one moment to join forces in putting the hospital gown and straightjacket on Clawdia, who is drooling and attempting a hateful stare at us. "Nurse Shelly, please, the foot rest."

"Yes, Doctor." Shelly puts Clawdia's hurt foot up, to avoid the formation of an edema. We can't have any physical discomfort to draw attention away from her more serious issues, can we?

* * *

><p>All the greatest medical minds and the most faithful of coworkers in this Real World state has come to the conference of the century. Jerry the forensic psychiatrist, Roy the orderly, Shelly the psychiatric nurse, Toadette the behavioral modification specialist, Lemmy the candystriper and all the others are gathered here to figure out what to do about our very sick and uncooperative patient.<p>

We have gathered in the grand conference hall, also known as the dining room. After shaking hands and introducing ourselves I present the case, appropriate seeing as I'm the subject's primary physician.

"December 23rd, Friday, Hour 22. Today we are gathered to evaluate the treatments available for patient no. XX-039, Greenkoop, Clawdia. Master Roy, please wheel in the patient."

I had Clawdia put in a bed instead of a wheelchair because of her foot. The mattress adjusted so she can sit up, but she is securely jacketed and strapped. Her face is full of fear, but her eyes are still analyzing the situation. I'm not underestimating her. When in survival mode, all creatures do what is necessary.

"This patient was transferred to my insitution from a ward in her home town. This ward did not have the necessary staff nor equipment that a patient in a condition as serious as Miss Clawdia's require. As a result, she was kept in solitary, where her condition worsened and hel wellbeing deteriorated. I worry so much about her recovery," I add sanctimoniously; "That I turn to you, my dear colleagues."

"Well, good," Jerry the forensic psychiatrist says. "I have read the copy of the patient records that you mailed me. I'd propose that we spend some time figuring out a diagnosis. Let's talk with the patient."

The others murmur, but I think it's a great idea. "Now, now, my friends, this is open forum. Everyone has the right to speak." Jerry nods. "But first, Doctor Ignatius, I am curious as to what is our theory on the patient's condition? Because my impression is that she's suffering from a psychosis, but several of the symptoms are telltale signs of a more serious illness."

"Like what?" I ask, taking careful notes.

"Some of the them are classic signs of antisocial personality disorder. They are more than symptoms; for instance, she seems to garner satisfaction from her mistreatment of fellow Koopas and Toads. Reckless disregard for other people's wellbeing. There was an incident, not long ago where she was caught torturing a Koopa lady with electricity."

"Sadism, _ja_. Eine _deutlich _sign of _klassich _psychopathy. Very interesting." Ludwig nods. "And I _vermuten _it's not an _isoliert _incident, _ja_?"

"It wasn't my fault!" Clawdia yanks her straps, which prompts Koopie to hold up a syringe. "It's the voices! The voices!"

Clawdia playing along with our perfect storm is a good sign. I sign to Koopie that the dose in unneccesary, at least for the time being. "Voices, you say?"

"Yes." she curls up in the bed. "They say that if I don't harm people, they will make me harm myself."

My face twitches, both in satisfaction and disgust. "There, there. We are here to help you."

"But only if you cooperate," Koops the cerebral hygienist nods his head. "Tell us more about these voices."

Clawdia's lip quivers. Jerry adds; "At your own pace. Remember the little talk we had about not having to always please everyone at once?"

She nods. "Yes, doctor." Clawdia pulls her knees up under her chin as far as they will go, due to the straps.

"I hear them every time I'm around people. At first, I thought the other people were asking me to hurt them, so I did."

I think about all the things she has done to other people. Posed as a kind healer, to gain the trust of parents and guardians, and then perform terrible experiments on their relatively innocent children. I remember the drug convention where all kinds of quacks from miles around gawped at me, and some even prodded me with pencils to see if the Silentium actually did keep me from attacking. Having to pretend it did made me see white-hot flashes, and I must have torn up every pillow and mattress I was put next to for the following week. Just because one can keep their emotions in check, doesn't mean they aren't having them, or struggling with them, or that they are powerless.

"Do you understand that what you did as wrong?" Jerry asks in a sing-song voice.

"But I had to do it! I'm a doctor! How can I help people unless I do what I am _supposed _to do?"

I calculate that about 70 percent of her tears are real. Jerry turns to _Doktor _Vorkian. "Obviously she does not understand."

"_Ja_, ich agree. Reasoning with the patient serves as eine _Katalysator _for her delusions. Has she always _geglaubt _that she is eine _Doktor_?"

"Yes." Jerry subtly shakes his head. "It's very frequent and profound."

"Ah. Ich fearen that ze patient suffers from a deep _Psychose_. And according to her _Journal _she does not respond satisfactory to _Medikamente_. Has you _beachten _any _selbstmörderisch _tendencies?"

"I have," Koopie says. "More than once she has pounced on me and tried to pry pens out of my hands to stab herself with. At first I believed it was motivated by self-harm related impulses, but she always aims for her arteries."

"She refuses to share what prompts these attempts," Koops interjects, "After several sessions trying to uncover the reasons for her depressive fases she reacts either with anger or escapism."

I nod. "She has occasionally been observed whispering to this." I hold up Lemmy's doll. Everyone gasps. A breakthrough!

Clawdia looks at the doll, perplexed at first, then she sinks back into her role. I am proud of my patient for making an attempt to conform herself to the rules of our society. We are finally moving in a forward direction.

"Now, Clawdia, if it's too difficult for you to confide in us, talk to Mr. Muffin here. I know how much you love his little cupcake face."

She smiles in anticipation, and then nods. "Yes, Doctor, I do."

I prop Mr. Muffin up so she can talk to him face to face. "Mr. Greenkoop says he loves Clawdia, but he's a liar. when nobody sees it, he slaps her and says she's fat and ugly." She nods again. "Do you know what he does to her at night, when everyone else is asleep? He goes into little Clawdia's room and when she pretends to be asleep..."

Shelly wipes our patient's tears and brushes her hair behind her shoulders.

"And her mother is even worse. She says that no man will ever love Clawdia because of her ugly nails. Clawdia can't stop biting them, because her mother has put her on a diet and now the little girl is always hungry. When Mama Greenkoop catches her stealing leftovers, she takes out a wooden spoon and beats her so hard."

No one interrupts, but Shelly pulls up the bedrails just in case Clawdia attempts to hurt herself again.

"What's that? The kids at school? They treat Clawdia so badly. Once they held her down and forced her to eat garbage. They spit at her. The teacher doesn't believe her, and when she walks home, the children punish her for telling and cut off her pigtails. She doesn't want to go home. Everywhere she goes people hate her. And now she hates herself, too. She wants to die."

She curls up into fetal position. The straps used at Freaky Fred's are designed to allow this position; it's up to the wearer to decide whether it's a kind invention, or a sadistic one.

"Fraulein Greenkoop," Ludwig says after a while. "Have _Ihr _told Mr. Muffin about _Ihre _need to _Töten _those who did zeze things?"

Clawdia smiles wickedly and even giggles as she holds Mr. Muffin to her ear. "Yes, it's funny. The _Kraut _thinks he knows anything. But he doesn't have a clue. If I could just keep the little Koopas and Toads here, and hurt them, and make money off them, I will never again have to think about all the horrible things that happened to me. And I like doing it. I do."

Doktor Ludwig K. Vorkian shakes his head wistfully. "It is as _Ich _feared. Ze Patient is beyond recovery and _Psychiatrich _help. _Eine _total homicidal _Wahnsinniger_."

"Is there nothing you can do, _Doktor_?" Doctor Koopie asks.

Ludwig is torn, I can tell. "_Kann sein _if I could _observieren _how she _sich verhalten_ in a normal setting, _ja_."

Yes, yes; as she was making her confession to Mr. Muffin, Toadette and Lemmy has prepared a setting for us. Please come join us; it's a very pleasant one. I know you'll enjoy it. All guests, please bring you own scalpel- I mean, butter knife.


	8. The Doktor Is Out

**_"So you take it with a smile,_**

**_There is no need to cry _**

**_For a trifle's more than this ~"_**

* * *

><p>Ah, the living room. I've never thought of it as lovely before, due to its colorless walls and floors, ultra-modern furniture that's expensive because some pretentious designer has their name embroidered in the upholstery and arched windows that have bars in front of them and bulletproof glass.<p>

Lemmy has brought his wand and turned these itchy chairs and couches into Mama's style; overstuffed, homey and with floral patterns. The lighting fixtures are turned off and their harsh light has been replaced with the soft colored glow from lanterns and table lamps. I see a table that's been set with a hand embroidered tablecloth, flowers and beautiful china. And the bulletproof glass? They have poinsettias placed in the anti-ligature windowsills.

A woman's touch is beyond science. It is beauty that does not exist to impress, but to silently improve the well-being of the ones who dwell in the home. It is bittersweet in that to be genuine, it must be taken for granted. I will never take my mama for granted. Not Shelly either. Or my father and brothers. I begin thinking about my namesake, uncle Ignatius. The black sheep of the family, at least in the eyes of the family's men. On the occasions where he was allowed into the common rooms of the Koopville mansion, the women always saw to it that he felt welcome. When the shell rot fever got the better of him and he was about to die, she sat there, right next to his bed for three days straight. How can love like that be broken down into numbers and letters and be explained?

I remember Mama explaining it to me as best as she could. She said: "I loved him unconditionally, like one should love their family. They're the most important Koopas in the world."

I said: "But didn't Uncle Ignatius go nuts and torch a Chuck E. Cheese?"

Mama paused here, probably wondering how I found that one out. "Yes, he did. He really, really hated hair in his food. But I never held it against it. He may not have deserved to be loved as much as he was, but... He sure needed it."

I have missed my family. And even my mother thinks it's enough for me to need her love, I want to earn her admiration, like a real man. The things that have happened to me at Freaky Fred is nothing compared to being apart from those I myself love, even a day is too much. My mother's gentle touch and voice that could comfort the most ferocious bear. My father, who is so strong I know that when he carries me, he will never lose me. And my brothers; when you're surrounded by other Koopas a little of their quirks become part of who you are. I miss sleeping next to Ludwig, who doesn't mind me freaking out in my sleep; he just puts a drop or two of chloroform on my pillow. And Lemmy. His love of fun and my creativity go together like ice cream and sprinkles. But I notice now, that I've been without them, that I have grown, as I no longer worry about only myself. Other people matter as well, even if I'm not related to them.

"It's tea time," Lemmy chirps and pulls out chairs from the table. He also removes one so that Clawdia's wheelchair can fit.

"Thank you, Lemmy," I say and kiss his head, like they do in mob stories. Someone will without doubt write a story about this night sometime. There's more food on this table than I've ever seen at all meals at Freaky Fred's put together, and it smells lovely. The bolt on the kitchen door has been pried open, so I'm guessing there's more delicious treats to come. We pour each other tea as everyone are seated.

"Welcome," Lemmy says as he's the host and his job is to make everyone feel welcome and wanted. "Welcome to the tea party, everyone. I'm so happy to be here, as I've heard so many wonderful things about each and everyone of you. Before we eat, I would like to thank Lynnie and Toadette for preparing all the lovely snacks we'll be enjoying this evening."

He smiles and nods graciously at the two ladies seated at either side of him. "Now there's nothing left to say than: Help yourselves, and a truly merry Christmas to all of you."

He is about to sit back down when Shelly interrupts him. "But Master Lemmy, you've forgotten something very important! Where is our guest of honor?"

Lemmy giggles. "Of course, how silly of me. Roy, will you please trot her out?"

Clawdia has a bag of ice wrapped in a towel and tied around her foot. As Roy pushes her chair towards the table, the towel drips half-melted chunks of ice on the floor.

"Ah, welcome, Miss Clawdia" I say.

"That's Doctor Clawdia, you degenerate," she growls.

"I've saved you a seat, right next to me. We have so many things to talk about."

Ludwig, I mean, Doktor Vorkian, gives Clawdia an unseen and painless injection right above her elbow. I wouldn't say that her veneer immediately cracks and peels off like the skin of a healed foot that just came out of the cast, but that doesn't worry me. After all, it takes a while before the treatment of a distraught individual moves in a forward direction. Even then it's not easy to stay on track.

I put a deviled egg on her plate as an amusing allusion. It is in fact so amusing that if I hadn't been this focused, I would be rolling wround on the table not struggling against the urge to relieve myself as I laugh.

Jerry takes his time unfolding his napkin neatly, but Shelly has already put hers in her lap and asks Goombella: "Would you like some tea or some broth?"

Goombella asks for broth. It's rich and cooked on shellfish and an exclusive Asian seaweed. I had no idea that Roy was into cooking. I prefer tea, though. As do Roy, by the way, the strong must devour the sweet.

"No one who puts popcorn on a string could be possibly be of sound mind," Jerry says as he is from a household that does not celebrate Christmas. It's hard for me to imagine winter without Christmas. Dark Land has a wealth of natural resources, such as uranium and precious metals. Even though it's extremely hot and arid, the cold blanket of snow, soft and deadly, finds its way into my father's kingdom every year. Waiting for summer would be excruciating without something to look forward to in the meantime.

"I think it looks good, though," Toadette argues. "And you feel less guilty about throwing it away than you do regular tinsel."

"Also it's much better for the environment than tinsel," Lemmy says. "But I guess the person who first thought of it must have been quite kooky."

Everyone laughs politely at this. I can see that everyone is feeling great; tonight we are members of high society. Even after being told that the community is better off without us, we do function as a group and have made a community that's ours. We decide the rules. Who stays...

And who leaves.

"So, Doktor Vorkian," Jerry with a background in forensic science says, putting his fork down. "I'm dying to know the results of the tests you performed on the foreign substance in the intravenous bag."

"No business at the table," Shelly says as she pours herself some lemonade. I nod towards Dr. Vorkian. "I'm gonna allow it."

"Gut, because my discovery was quite erstaunlich. It appears that the Silentium stimulates the Zirbeldrüse as well as the Zentralnervensystem, and it's Wirkung - If I am not mistaken, it builds a dam of chemicals in ze brain that releases serotonin, acetylcholin and melatonin in sehr small doses at a time. Instead of ze Patient getting a good night's belebendes sleep, he or she is konstant trapped between the states of asleep and awake. A chemical Zwangsjacke."

This really is fascinating. And it was made by Clawdia, which in itself is beyond baffling.

"What would the long term effects of this substance be, Doktor?" I ask.

Ludwig actually seems terrified. "Oh, Ich do not want to think about it even. A gesundheitsfördernd diurnal rhythm is of vital importance to all living things, but even more so in a mentally ill individual. If denied rest and a peaceful night's sleep, ze Patient can become unbeständich and violent, and experience a serious worsening of his or her symptoms. All zeze things will most likely be much more serious if an individual is improperly weaned off the substance as well."

"Fascinating, fascinating..." I turn my attention to Koopie and Koops, who are having one of their many little discussions.

"You didn't lose your pocket translator, Koops. It's probably in your desk somewhere.

"No, it's not; I've looked there twice. And I also checked my spare shell a bunch of times." Koops is patting his pockets, but Koopie puts her hand on his.

"Remember when you turned my house upside down because you thought you had lost the keys to your bike?

"Yeah." Koops' shoulder's droop.

"And a week later, what did we find when we moved your couch?"

Goombella chuckles at this. "It was probably the cat! They always bat stuff under the furniture. Once I found the results of my sanity hearing, all curled up into a little ball and thrown into the furnace. The mysteries of life, man."

Everyone laughs jovially before toast. Goombella knows how to tell a good joke.

I observe that Jerry is nibbling on his pinkie claw again. It's typical behavior of someone who has been confined to an understimulating environment for too long. Us Koopalings can do it too after doing long stretches in the dungeon, but not as seriously as little Jerry. He is biting the claw, possibly also a side effect of malnutrition. But a more grave reason is that when he's surrounded by people he loses touch with himself, even around people he's familiar with, and is reduced to this unsightly and unsanitary method of self-stimulation.

"Jerry," I say. "Try this fig muffin. It's made from scratch with real figs." Or something. As soon as Ludwig's own line of organic foods hits the market, I'm having my own groceries flewn in from Toad Town. Then again he would never feed me anything dangerous, such as zombie vegetables or radioactive snack cakes. Or would he.

"But you, Clawdia," Shelly says with a venomous smile. "You've been very quiet." she tilts her head. "If you have a special treat hidden from us, now is the time to share it."

Clawdia sits still, clenching her hands, even now that she's been freed from the straitjacket to dine with us. Her hair is a mess, and so is her face. It doesn't take long for that to happen at Freaky Fred's.

"All... All I ever wanted was to succeed at something." She's trembling, terrified. She definitely succeded - at making already dangerous, insane delinquents into even more dangerous and insane delinquents.

"You are one of us, Clawdia. Crazy. No court would convict you of your crimes. Even though you betrayed the founder of this fine institution. What would he say if he knew that we, the residents, obeyed the ward's rules out of fear of your pointless and brutal reprisals, and not the desire to get better?"

Tears spurt from her eyes. "He would... He would be so disappointed in me!" She sobs, and hiccups, and now, finally, the tears are genuine.

"No need for despair, Clawdia. You see, you are no more guilty nor innocent than anyone seated at this table. We have all wounded those we were supposed to protect; our peers. But we made a decision today. We want to redeem ourselves in their eyes by assuming our share of the blame."

Everyone nods. Even the stoic Koopie bows her head. If Clawdia hadn't done what she did next, maybe her fate would have been different.

"I'm nothing like you freaks! I did succeed in the end! I'm rich! And famous! And when this is all over, mark my words, you will never get out of here alive!"

I don't want to rise from my comfy, comfy sea, but it's my job as the head-head doctor to care for my patients, no matter what the calendar says.

There's a large scalpel on the table, next to my Koopamama's teapot, still in a plastic case to ensure it stays sterile until use. I remove the cover with a dramatic flair I've practiced for a while.

"Look at this, Doctor Clawdia. It's a sharp object. A sharp object in _your _ward? What sorcery is this?"

Toadette removes the silver cloche from a platter. "Cake time," she says in her soft voice.

"Oh, wonderful," I say and turn to Clawdia. "Let us cut you... a piece."

Of course, Clawdia's piece is laced with Silentium; Slumber-Sleep. Its effect on her is amazing, but shortlived as the lies she perpetuates to make her life bearable are very well exercised over the years.

"I only fear that giving her cake will send the wrong message." I say as I sit back down, still with the scalpel in my hand. I want to cut Lemmy's piece to avoid him getting too wired on sugar.

"Worry not, _mein _friend. Often a patient acting up is simply _hungrig_." Doktor Vorkian is securing the patient to the wheelchair by a strap system on the chair's back that cannot be reached even by freed hands.

"Here you go," I say to Lemmy as I give him a piece of the cream cheese cake. He immediately eats the decorations, but his manners aren't half as bad as Roy's, who's now licking his tea cup. I was hoping they could learn something from my fellow inmates, who are much more well-behaved in comparison.

To give them some extra leisure time, Ludwig is spoon feeding Clawdia the rest of her cake.

"As I was saying, Miss Clawdia, no court would convict you. Not of frying Koopie's brain. Or crippling Jerry's legs. Driving more than one of us to suicide. Certainly not stashing Shelly away and telling her parents she's dead. And then there's me. the one success after a long line of screwups. All these had to be sacrificed, so I could be a success. Coincidence? Maybe if one of my own brothers hadn't been one of your previous victims."

"A jury would not see how you could possibly be culpable," Shelly said. "Because they are not of your peers."

"But we are," I say, smiling at her. "A long lost lamb returns."

"I wanna call my mama," Clawdia says, scared out of her wits.

"Your phone privileges are revoked, Miss," Goombella says. "So you can focus on the important things."

"For instance, we would never harm any of our own, even if they betray us. We care about eachother and would never hurt one another." I think about Mama Koopa and how good she tried to raised me. It's not in vain, mama. You showed me the way, and now I'm walking it.

"You're not capable of feelings, Iggy." Clawdia whispers. "You were born without a soul. I on the other hand is a good, no, great doctor. I've accomplished greatness."

How my mother would weep if she heard Clawdia say that. I am enraged and this time I let go of the little control I have mustered. But in silence. "Oh, no one is doubting your range of talents, Doctor. Nor your level of commitment. You can do whatever you set your mind to. However... Something is missing. You have not yet admitted to making mistakes along the way."

Her eyes testify her guilt, but it's ot much help to us without hearing it.

"I... I was wrong," she whimpers after a while.

"Hm?" Shelly asks as she sips some more tea.

"I was wrong! I... I never should have continues the project after... after seeing the effects on my first test subject. It was cruel. And... and... And I don't know how to make it up to you."

"We do," Goombella says.

"We've known for over a year now." Jerry nods. He's a cute kid.

Clawdia's head droops. "Tell me. Please."

This is where the scalpel comes in for the last time. I place it across Clawdia's napkin. "You could show us... How _deeply _your understanding of our pain goes."

Obediently, Clawdia picks it up, and looks at her wrist. "But... How will people know that I feel bad for what I did? That I care about you? That I've learned?"

I smile at her. "Don't worry, Clawdia-dear. This room is full of people that will testify to your recovery. We may be demented but... we never lie. I myself will tell everyone who asks that you did the right thing."

"So will I," Jerry says.

"And I," Goombella nods.

"Me too," Shelly agrees.

"We all will." Koops incites everyone to nod.

Clawdia takes the scalpel and drags it down the block, not across the street. So she must have paid at least some attention to what goes on in her patients' minds. The cut is marvelous; a jet of blood sprays forward, almost all the way across the table.

Everyone gets up, eager and excited by this vision, that has been their inner and uttermost desire for a very long time. The smaller ones among us run across the table while the others grab their teacups and gather around Clawdia as Roy rolls her out on the floor.

Clawdia is pale, but at this rate, she won't bleed out for a long time. So Shelly grabs her by the hair and bends her neck backwards. When I realize what she wants me to do, I feel digusted, surprised, and delighted, all at the same time.

"You will tell everyone?" Clawdia whispers.

"Everyone," I say, before taking the scalpel out of her trembling hand. Everyone holds out their teacups as I sink the blade into her neck. First the sinew, then the windpipe. It kind of saddens me the Dr. Clawdia's is a voice we will never hear again. A regular fountain of blood, like lava from the volcano by my fathers' castle, ruptures from her wound. I'm going to have to live with this for a long time.

Large drops of blood land into everyones' beverages, but everyone is waiting for me to do something far more extreme. "Dr. Clawdia, eat your heart out," Koopie growls. Her eyes are ablaze with evil. We have succeeded too, in being what the Stars made us to be. Cruel, evil, rabid... Unique individuals!

The scalpel is not strong enough to manage a cut like this on its own. The poultry scissors Ludwig brought to help preparing the turkey sandwiches will do.

"Dr. Vorkian," I say, pondering. "These are rib cutters."

"Fancy that, _Doktor_," Ludwig chuckles.

After the U-incision is made to remove the plastron, the ribs break like chicken bones in the powerful grip of the rib cutter. I remove them. There's not much blood left, so locating the heart is easy, even so shortly post mortem. I liberate it from the aorta and venae cavae, surprisingly difficult, but soon, I hold my prize in hand.

I no longer have to worry about Whiteroom, so my teeth are free to sink into Clawdia's heart. If i have ever tasted anything sweeter it must have been when my mother held me to her breast. Because that's how far it is from my memory. Blood gushes from it like juice from a ripe peach, and the toughness of the tissue is no match for my knife-sharp incisors. I consume the flesh of my enemy, and as I do, the faces leave me. They can't change anymore. I see my friends, my brothers, my new family. And they will always be here for me.

I hold out my hand, letting everyone have a piece of Clawdia's heart of their very own. With it nourishing our souls and flesh, everyone will be able to see our beautiful minds. Everybody are unique, and beautiful in their own way. But not too many ever let it show. One day I will sacrifice my own heart to ensure that one day everyone can shine.

Jerry is out of his wheelchair, and standing by the television, watching the news intently.

"The Norwegian Directorate of Fisheries are in hot soup after company bigwigs were found guilty of raising an anglerfish slash toadboy in one of their farming pools..."

"These news are _boring_," he scoffs and kicks the TV. He comes back to us for another round of tea. We stand in front of Clawdia's remains, and admire them. Her cracked rib cage looks like wings; wings made of bones, where the feathers are flesh-filled, purplish spaces covered by a pearly white membrane. They shimmer in the light of the candles.

"For the fallen ones," Ludwig says. One day I will find what he means.

"For Clawdia," Koopie says and snickers.

"For this beautiful day," Goombella says.

"For Toadfishboys everywhere," Jerry chirps.

"For good times with good friends," Koops nods.

"For the end of Silentium," Shelly grumps.

"For a merry Christmas," Goombella says.

It's my turn. "For Freaky Fred's, and all past, present, and future residents."

We toast in tea and blood, mostly blood. As we drink up, Shelly takes my hand. "Please say you won't forget me."

I put the cup down. "Shelly. I will never, ever forget you. How could I? Your presence has been vital to the evolution of my diseased and violent mind."

"Oh, Iggy," she says tenderly. "Your demented words are like sweet poetry."

I don't hear the double doors of the ward being broken down by a heavily armed SWAT team, as Jerry has put on one of the few records in the cabinet; "Lara's Theme" by Andre Rieu, but I fully understand why Lemmy, Roy and Ludwig have to conjure a warp pipe and vanish before they can be implicated. The other's wave, but Shelly and I are dancing on the blood spattered floor. Shelly's torn straitjacket floats around her like a ballgown as we twirl around. My feet are still too small to step on hers, but my heart is now that of a real man. I just know it from looking at her that I have abandoned my childhood.

Something hits me in the side of my neck, making me yelp. It's a very small dart. Hmm... Normally the sedatives they dole out at the ward just makes us dizzy, but this is curare. I recognize it not from personal use, but from the look on Shelly and the others' faces. Sweet relief; euphoria. The colors float out of the lines of all the objects that are visible to me. i'm actually tired enough to fall asleep. For the first time in more than a year I again hear a sweet little melody and I want to follow it, like curious child follows a white rabbit down a long, dark hole in the ground.

At the same time as my strength betrays me, I realize that I'm free. What is a cure to my condition compared to the freedom of my own mind? Certainly you can understand. Here you are, still listening to my words. You are no more sane or insane than I am. But together we have relinquished the shame.

We all won in the end.

* * *

><p>Dear reader, this is Ludwig von Koopa. I had to assume writing the rest of my dear brother's memoir as he is currently indisposed. That's my work I'm afraid; I have given him my very special cocktail of bear tranquilizer and lofentanil. He'll be out cold for a while.<p>

After the incident at Freaky Fred Memorial Institute for the Criminally Insane, dubbed Black Christmas Massacre by the media, everyone were either moved to other wards or taken to other hospitals. Those who were brought to general hospitals for physical exams quickly escaped of course, and I happen to know we'll be hearing from them again very soon. My brother will be allowed to spend New Years here at Kastle Koopa, but as soon as a new head-head doctor is installed at the Scum of the Earth - ward at the Institute he will be readmitted, this time on a voluntary basis. In the meantime, I take care of him, the family's beloved lunatic. After all I'm the one who understands him the most.

Here's the funny part. Clawdia Koopa's patent provoked so much controversy that no bottle of Silentium will ever be prescribed. And the money she had already made has been split between the SOTE residents. Shelly and Jerry received the biggest shares, but Iggy got a neat sum too. Until he comes of age I will simply have to remind how much i looooove him.

I have to go back to my work now. I have already spent too much time on you. But, as a thanks for not stealing anything, I will let you have a look Iggy's hospital records. To protect his dignity or lack thereof, I have blacked out some of the information. Until next time.

* * *

><p><strong>Patient name:<strong> **KOOPA**, Ignatius H. (Note: goes by shorter first name **Iggy**).

**Birth Date:** September 24th

**Age:** 13 H.Y

**Sex:** M

**Height:** 54 in

**Weight:** 69 lbs, 1. oz

**Species:** Koopa

**Established Diagnosis:** Paranoid type schizophrenia, Type I bipolar disorder

**Prescribed Medication(s):** Perphenazine 16 mg x2, Aripiprazole 15 mg x 2, Silentium 50 mg x2.

Oxazepam 10 mg and Zombiclon 15 mg given at night.

* * *

><p>Iggy Koopa was referred to the institution by primary physician Dr. J. Toadley after a long history of symptoms pointing to schizophrenia and finally after an attempt to murder his mother. The reason given for this incident was "because the faces told me to".<p>

**M.D SHELDON DesKOOPA, Freaky Fred Memorial Institute for the Criminally Insane, Admission Ward**

Tests confirm Dr. Toadley's suspicion of schizophrenia. This patient is lacking the basic concept of a difference between fantasy and reality. This inability manifests itself as a debilitating fear of visual and auditory stimuli and seemingly relates to people as if they are figments of his imagination. Invariably violent reaction to physical contact. Incapability of following a normal conversation. "Word salad" is often observed. Cries inconsolably at night, manic state pronounced throughout the day. Stupor. Malnourishment and refusal of oral nutrition; parenteral nutrition a temporary aid. Insomnia suspected of worsening visual and auditory hallucinations. Attempts of self harm; third day of week long observation 2nd level restraint use is necessary due to serious injuries to left arm and wrist. Bed restrains also become necessary overnight. Patient testifies homesickness which then aggravates anger. Responds satisfactory when exposed to hydrotherapy pools and does not object help with hygienic routines.

**CONCLUSION: Admission to the Observation Ward, observations made based on patient's behavior, exhibition of symptoms and escape attempt qualifies for transfer to the top security wing of the Scum of the Earth (SOTE) ward of Institute. Transfer of care to M.D Clawdia Greenkoop.**

**Date: **May 23


End file.
